Doll
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: Oneshot. A reflection of Colette's condition after the first visit to the Tower of Salvation. Little more than a machine, a living doll... Colette spoilers, obviously.


Doll

DISCLAIMER: Don't own Tales of Symphonia, blah blah blah. Would love to own Kratos or Yuan but Kratos has "Property of Anna" stamped on his butt and Yuan is already owned by several fangirls and I don't feel like sharing custody. Oh well. They're cute anyway. And stuff. Sorry... I'll shut up now.

_She looked much the same as before. Long, shining blonde hair, soft childish features, stainless white clothing, violet-pink shimmering translucent wings. The only difference was in her eyes, which had always before seemed to be brimming, overflowing with emotion. They were blank. Apathic. ...Almost evil. Just empty pits of crimson, orbs filled with a bottomless depth of blood._

_She would not respond to anything, didn't turn her head to look at stimuli, did not eat or sleep or speak. She could not any longer. The transformation had been completed, and so every trace of her humanity was gone._

_It was exactly as Kratos and Remiel had said. She was only a puppet, a channel for Martel's sleeping spirit._

_A doll._

_Nothing more._

---

There is an angel.

I see him when I close my eyes.

He has dark eyes, brown hair, and blue wings.

He has a strange look on his face. A look that is "sad".

I want to ask, why is he "sad".

But the words are only in my mind.

And the angel is not there.

I only see him when I close my eyes.

---

_She could not feel pain, she could not feel warmth, she could not display emotion._

_They simply did not know what to do with her._

_The only way they could tell she was alive was when they battled monsters. Then, instead of being so seemingly emotionless and unnervingly marrionette-like, she would rush onto the front lines and attack ruthlessly, slaughtering all who stood in her way._

_The professor explained it by saying that as a living organism, as well as the vessel for Martel, she now displayed a ferocious survival instinct. She would kill anything that threatened her, without regard to who or what it was._

_It was even more frightening than her periods of blank absence._

---

They try to kill me.

They try to stop me.

I do not let them.

---

_She lived mechanically, like the magical machinery the professor adored so much. She just carried out the necessary functions, and otherwise stood or sat somewhere mindlessly._

_They all despaired at her condition. Each had tried to talk to her, only to be met with uncomprehending crimson eyes that were not quite impassive yet not quite curious either. They had done everything they could think of to get some sort of rise out of her, short of a physical touch that could be construed in any way as threatening. They all knew what sort of response _that _would elicit._

_Even _he _despaired. Was there nothing they could do, to try to bring her back?_

---

Their words are words that have no meaning.

Their words are not the words of the angel.

Their words are strange and garbled.

Unintelligible.

I cannot understand any of it.

---

_They undress her, bathe her, force her back into clothing. They watch her slightest movement. She is a child again, a child who knows everything and nothing, and they feel responsible for her in such terrible ways that they are unable to express._

_She does things absently, as if executing such things with the smallest available part of her mind she can spare. She is like a living doll--a body that moves on its own without any visible thought process behind it._

_A doll, and no more._

_What hope is there?_

---

While the Other Woman dries herself from the water, I hold the clothing I wear.

On the inside of the cloth is stitched a strange writing.

I follow it with a fingertip.

"C-o-l-e-t-t-e-B-r-u-n-e-l"

There is no meaning in it.

There is no purpose in it.

Until there is purpose, I do not do anything.

I do not need to move without a purpose.

Without a spirit.

Without a "me".

The boy with brown hair and dark eyes gives me the same look as the angel I see.

The look that is called "sad".

I do not understand.

Why are they "sad" when they see me?

What is there to be "sad" about?

I am what I am, what I am meant to be.

I await my purpose.

Until then...

Nothing matters...

Nothing to be "sad" about...

---

_She is merely a doll clinging to the very edge of existence._

_She that was the Chosen._

_She that was Colette._


End file.
